The conference floor is utter chaos. Booths and tables are overturned and scattered. Demons are trying to flee, but most of them can’t get past the guardian bouncers, which unfortunately seem to work in reverse, as well. If the demons are feeling violent—which they should be—they can’t get in or out. In the midst of the melee, more black-cloaked Ren Faire rejects are tasing everything that moves. A few of the attackers are lying prone and unmoving, though. Some of these demons are more than capable of handling themselves. But not all of them.
“First priority is Jason,” I say. “Stay close. When we find him, you two get out and go to the car. You’re not violent; you shouldn’t have a problem.”
Doug tucks the kitten safely into his shirt. “Second priority?”
I crack my knuckles, shake out my sore shoulder. Fun, I almost say. Then I run straight into the middle. There’s a whole group of the black cloaks surrounding several stunned demons, including my new friend Clem.
“Hey!” I say brightly. They turn to look at me. They’re all human, as far as I can tell, and each holding one of those stupid shock sticks. “What do you all have in common with vacuums?”
“What?” the man closest to me says, confusion shifting his placid expression.
“You suck.”
One of the women gives me a witheringly dismissive shake of her head.
“Oh, come on,” I say, a little hurt. “I’m a new Slayer. I’m still working on the banter. But I’m good at this part.” I pick her up and throw her into the others. Three of them go down in a tangle of limbs and cloaks. Bad idea, all that extra material.
I hear the crackle of electricity and duck as a shock stick jabs where my neck had been. I could break her neck, smash her ribs beyond repair.
People, I remind myself with gritted teeth. A well-aimed kick results in a crack and a scream of agony. Dislocated knees aren’t fatal, and they’re very effective. And satisfying. I duck and roll and spin among the remaining attackers, taking out knee after knee after knee. The incapacitated demons are recovering, scurrying away. I give Clem a hand up.
“I’m so full I might puke,” he says, holding his stomach. He eats fear, and every demon trapped in here must be positively reeking of it. “Thank you, pet. You’re a good girl.”
I backfist a cloaker trying to sneak up behind me, and he goes down screaming, clutching his broken and bleeding nose. Clem seems to know this space judging by the professional level of his setup. “If you were trying to kidnap—demonnap, I guess?—in bulk numbers, how would you do it?”
Clem points to an area blocked off by curtains at the back of the conference floor. “Loading dock there. That’s how we got my booth in. I’m not getting the deposit back on that, am I?” He looks morosely at the wreckage of materials and steps gingerly over the nearest cloaked woman. “How did you get past the bouncers?” he asks her.
She laughs, a hollow, unnerving sound. “Our intent isn’t violent or malicious. It’s essential. You’ll see. You’ll all see.” She jabs at him with her shock stick.
“Okay, creeper.” I take her shock stick and snap it in half. “Clem, I’ve got more punching to do. I’d recommend running away.” I glance over the group I’ve already taken out. I feel bad for how bad I don’t feel. It’s not like me. But I don’t want to be me right now. I want to be Buffy. Even Artemis. Someone who knows what they’re doing and doesn’t stop to feel bad about it. The darkness inside of me agrees. This is who we should be.
The injured cloakers are surrounded by demons now. The woman in the pin-striped suit with suction cups on her hands has an evil glint in each of her three eyes. She reaches out to help the nearest one stand. He lifts a hand, confused but grateful.
“She’s going to … ,” I start, then stop. Well. They did kind
of ask for it. And the cloakers mostly still have their shock sticks. They just can’t drag demons away now. I feel comfortable with my decision to leave them on their own in the middle of the convention they were terrorizing. Once I’ve made certain no demons are being hauled off and after I’ve stopped whoever is out there, I’ll come back and keep the cloakers from being totally sucked dry.
Probably.
A flash of yellow catches my eye, and I whirl to see Jason dragged past the curtains toward the loading dock. There are twelve adorable baby demons waiting at home for him, and I will not let them be hurt the same way I was. Leaping over tables and chairs, I tear through the curtains to see a huge corrugated metal door has been opened. A moving truck is in the loading bay, doors open, several demons already inside.
“Need some help?” I ask.
The nearest cloaker, the one awkwardly dragging Jason, smiles gratefully at me. “Yes.”
“Gross. Not you.” I kick her knee and she falls, screaming. Doug appears behind me and grabs Jason under his arms. “Go. I’ll make sure no one follows you.”
Doug nods and drags his semiconscious cousin away. I turn back to find five cloakers, each armed with shock sticks, moving to surround me.
Imogen was right—I should follow my instincts. All this time I’ve been trying not to feel the way I feel. Embracing it is awesome. So much easier. This must be what it’s like to be Buffy! No more worrying and overthinking and being afraid of doing things the wrong way.
I hold up a hand; I’ll at least give them a chance. “I’m going to stop you right there. You’re already looking at a massive physical therapy regimen for your friends back there. It’s gonna be months before they regain full movement in their knees. And they’ll need help in the meantime. They’re not going to be very mobile. Depending on which knee I took out, they’re also not going to be driving, so they’ll need rides to and from their appointments. What I’m saying is: Do you want to help them? Or do you want to join them?”
“When the Sleeping One reaches his third form,” a turnip-faced man says, raising his eyes to the ceiling rapturously, if a turnip can ever be said to be rapturous, “we will live in his light and walk across the backs of the prostrate masses and—”
“Wait—hold up. The what masses?”
He looks at me, glaring at my interruption. “Prostrate.”